


Tuesday, November 3, 2020

by zu123456789



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: 2020 US Presidential Election, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, POV Donald Trump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:14:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27621893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zu123456789/pseuds/zu123456789
Summary: Donald Trump must get past a wall of interns to retrieve his phone so he can change his profile pic to an anime character and sadpost.
Kudos: 3





	Tuesday, November 3, 2020

The 50 United States, lit up in various tints of blue and red. Trump did not care. 

“Change the channel.” 

“But Mr. President…” A rather short intern tried to cut in but it didn’t matter. The channel was already changed by a newer, more eager intern. Evidently one with less integrity. Either that or maybe they were a Russian Agent. 

They didn’t look like a Russian agent though. And weren’t the Russians supposed to be on their side? Trump stared at the coffee table. His mind was elsewhere. At Mar-a-Lago, golfing and laughing with the boys. He’d been so cocky and now he was going to lose. This was cause for major embarrassment. In the other room, his campaign was already plotting the lawsuits, writing the scripts for him to perform. 

In 2016 that was the sort of thing he’d be all over. Larping and riling up his incompetent fanbase. But the times had changed and he knew his schtick was getting old. Maybe not to the die-hards, and the liberals still seemed to eat it up, but he was always looking forward. He needed something new. What would catch them all off guard? He knew. Mr. Social Media, wasn’t he? He’d give them everything they wanted. 

“Gimme my phone.” He snapped his fingers towards the wall of interns. 

How many clipboards had his campaign bought? Was that where the money was going? The Interns stood still. Not even the eager one came forward with Trump's phone. But of course, it was the end of his era, why should they tend to his leg and knee, or whatever the saying was. Not even the eager one, though? Trump looked over his shoulder and saw why. Eager intern was cowered in the corner getting the shit kicked out of him by two other white collared individuals. Could this be… the degenerate… right?

Trump wiped the sweat from his hands onto his pants. Truth be told, there was no sweat to wipe, however, considering the circumstances, he thought it an appropriate action. He glanced over his right shoulder, so slowly towards the wall of interns who stood motionless, blocking him from his phone which sat on a shelf directly behind them. Oh, how the interns couldn’t possibly understand. He needed to do this. This was how he coped. And without it, who knows. Who knows what he might do. He might slit his wrists or…. The shortest intern was looking right at him. Trump slunk down. How could this midget make him feel so small? They worked for him after all. He wanted to leap over the couch and strangle him, and that wasn’t just the adrenochrome talking. He felt a predatory sort of alive towards the small intern. 

He focused his energy inward. Maybe the sweat wipe had been enough to convince them he simply needed a break. He glanced over his left shoulder now. The once-eager intern was slumped over on the floor, face canvassed with blood. His victors were paying him no attention, much like two house-cats unsure of what to do with their prize. Trump made eye contact with his fallen comrade and narrowed his eyes. 

“I’ll avenge you my brother.” The bloodied intern stared back blankly. This was not the exchange of hearts Trump had hoped for. Matter of fact, it was a bit awkward, so Trump turned back, staring once again at the coffee table. Was there not a single man on his side? He could feel the short intern’s eyes boring into the back of his skull. Was now the time to call unto God? No. If anyone could prevail in this situation it was him. 

“I’m going to the bathroom.” Trump stood up. The interns’ eyes were still on him, but he was suddenly no longer intimidated. These were his subordinates. Yes, Melania had ordered them to keep him away from his phone, but what could they actually do to stop him? He pushed by the interns and moved towards the phone.

He grabbed it. He allowed no facial recognition or fingerprint to open his phone. Those features were undoubtedly oriental in origin and, current state of things accounted for or not, he hated the Chinese. He fumbled through his 20 digit passcode.

The only thing on his home screen was Twitter. He’d made his interns delete all the other apps--there could be no clutter. At least, that’s the reason he’d given to them. Deep down, however, the reason was something quite different. It was always Donald’s hope that the Twitter icon would come alive one day and move of its own volition around the screen. He would chase it with his thumb, unable to pin it down, always escaping his grasp. Like a real bird would, and Oh! The memory poured in before he could stop it….

He was out in the woods hunting with his father. “Listen.” Donald looked up at his father, shielding the mid-morning sun with his left hand. “Of all the dogs in this world, I've no doubt that ours is the smartest. In terms of duck spotting, he’s next to none. God, I hate dogs, but this dog… he’s such… he’s such--” Donald Sr. kept going. Donald had stopped paying attention on the second word, and he wasn’t pretending to listen either. Long before in his youth he’d realized that his father would talk and talk no matter what reaction Donald gave. Today, Don Sr. was particularly chatty. Too much cocaine... Perhaps… 

The ducks were getting away. The fantastic, brilliant duck-chasing dog was chasing them too well. Donald figured he’d shoot. Might as well, the ducks were going to fly away, and although he’d never shot a gun before in his life, Donald took aim and shot. He missed, of course, and his dad freaked out. Going off on what a failure little Donny was. Little did he know Donald missed on purpose. He could never kill a cute little duck… like he could never kill the cute little twitter bird…. since it wasn’t alive to begin with! 

This thought upset him. If the twitter bird wasn’t alive then he’d make it be, with the voices of the angry millions! He glanced quickly at his interns, the flicker of tv light was still in their eyes. They weren’t paying attention to him. He looked again at the once-eager intern, still collapsed in the corner. Donald met his eyes for only a moment before slipping into the bathroom.

Quickly, he didn't know how much time he had, he opened profile settings and clicked on his icon. “Change?” it asked him. He smiled to himself. Wasn’t that Obama’s slogan? Something like that. His camera roll was empty. Cleared, surely, by the interns on Melania’s orders. Not like it mattered. The image Trump sought was an easy Google search away. Fast as his fingers could type he entered: sad… anime… boy.

Images. First result, Ken Kaneki. This was perfect. He could almost feel the mental wellbeing check-in calls on his behalf. Now all he needed was a bio to match. Something simple but obnoxious. He closed his eyes and typed. 2 words.. 3... he changed his name as well. It was perfect. 

“Done?” the right corner asked. Yes he was. 

As soon as he confirmed the changes, they were upon him. 

“‘Gone’??? ‘I'm sorry’?? Donald what is going on?” 

“He’s just emotionally manipulating us, ignore him!” 

“Ken Kaneki, Don? Really?” 

“You can’t just change your icon to a crying anime character and expect us to forgive you.” 

Donald set his phone down and closed his eyes. He smiled. Win or lose, the libs could never take this blissful feeling from him. The quiet contentment was short lived however. The door rattled on its hinges as the interns tried to break it down. His phone rang loudly then vibrated off the ledge of the sink. It crashed loudly on the floor and Donald jumped. Beethoven's 5th came to mind. But it was alright. The election results, everything. Was this not what he wanted? A little…….. chaos?


End file.
